Overlander from 911
by trip-over-the-page
Summary: On September 11, 2001, the world's two highest buildings collapse over New York City, sending millions of people into a panic - and hundreds into the Underland. Follow the highs and lows of just a few out of the thousands displaced - and what the Underlanders will do about it. On Hiatus until I reread the series.


**This story had some promise. And wonderful glowing reviews. And thus, I rewrite, with the hope that I can bring myself back to this poor pitiful story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Underland Chronicles or anything that is in them.**

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_**September 11, 2001**_

_**New York City**_

_**8:42 am**_

Silvan Lye wanted more than anything to be like her mom.

Peg Lye was in her prime, twenty-five years-old and thriving as a renowned journalist. Her hair was brown, and the sun painted red tints into the roots. Her laugh made her glow and multiply the freckles on the tip of her nose. Her lips were red, and her eyes were green. One of her eyebrows quirked up, ever cynical.

And Silvan looked like her dad. Brown braids with green hair ties; black Mary-Janes, the toes scuffed gray; tan school uniform, much too short; knobby knees scraped and red. She was the stereotypical five year-old. Twenty years away from being in her prime.

But Peg loved her daughter more than anything in the world. Her large hand grasped the smaller one with pink nails, tugging Silvan along behind her as she stopped at every window that they passed.

"Mommy, can we get ice cream later?" Silvan asked, eyeing the chocolate with brownie bits sundae on display. Her mouth watered.

"Maybe when you're feeling better," Peg replied, a little sarcastically, and very irritated. She checked her watch. Work started precisely at eight-thirty.

"But, Mommy," whined the girl, digging her heels in, "I am feeling better!"

"Well, if you really are feeling _so_ much better, I can just take you back to school." Peg turned and pursed her lips at her daughter, who was marveling at a toy shop window, oblivious to the time constraint. She watched as Silvan's round eyes suddenly grew in diameter and ran back to her mother, taking her hand and walking dejectedly. "I don't feel that much better."

Peg snorted and poked her daughters belly; a high-pitched giggle flew out of her lips. Peg noticed a new scab across Silvan's knee. "Sil, how did that happen?" she asked as she bent down to inspect the injury.

"A boy tripped me on the playground," she said, looking at the scab proudly. Peg looked up at her. "I punched him in the eye."

Peg suddenly burst out in a laugh that rumbled her belly and put tears in her eyes. In the midst of her laughing she told her daughter that you shouldn't punch someone, proudly grabbed her hand, and walked on towards the World Trade Center.

**8:45 am**

Peg's office was a block from the World Trade Center, in the shadow of the massive South Tower. Silvan skipped excitedly. She loved going with her mother to work; Ms. Chele, a portly Hispanic woman who was the editor of the small newspaper, had a jar of spicy red Hot Tamales sitting on her desk, and a Disney video inside her portable TV, waiting for some five year-old (specifically Silvan) to help themselves to.

About three blocks from the towers, a loud noise cut through the din of the city. It sounded like jet engine. Normally, everyone would have dismissed the plane. They were as common as cars, nowadays. But something was terribly wrong with this plane. The two looked up, along with thousands of other heads in the NYC area. The plane was too low. Way too low.

The massive black shape roared its way towards the skyscrapers. Silvan coughed up phlegm.

A crash. A boom, almost as loud as a bomb, and a huge fireball snaking its way up towards the sky, away from the North Tower of the World Trade Center. Gasps, and screams, and audible questions of confusion choked the air. People panicked. Sirens wailed, people cried. Shrapnel blew everywhere.

Peg Lye screamed and grabbed her daughter, pulling her face away from the chaos, away from the danger.

"What was that?" Sil asked; her voice was even and calm.

"Nothing, Sil, honey. Don't worry, everything is going to be OK," replied her mom. Silvan got the feeling that the consoling wasn't just for her sake; her mom was saying it to herself as well. "It's OK."

The two were almost knocked over by a large man rushing past them. Peg forced herself to look up. She could see people hanging out of the side of the windows, waving, screaming for help. Helicopters came by, trying to reach them. But it was a lost cause. Then the first person jumped. There was a crash, like a gunshot going off, as he hit the ground, body parts bursting and flying past them.

Peg picked up her daughter and turned her face away, walking backwards to keep her daughter from seeing the mangled man. "It's just an accident," she whispered.

That was what some thought.

Until a second plane hit the South Tower.

**9:59 am**

Groaning and creaking ushered from the South Tower. The second plane had hit much lower on the Tower than the first one had, trapping even more people on the upper floors.

Suddenly, screams were everywhere. It filled the air. The South Tower compressed on itself.

Then it fell.

It fell hard, blowing dust everywhere, choking the beauty out of the beautiful day. People ran. Peg picked up Sil. She ran, ran from the oncoming clouds of debris, dust, and smoke. It covered the city like an evil blanket, an angel of death.

People scrambled, like ants under a hose. Peg and Sil were running towards Central Park, towards the cover of the trees. Soon the cloud came upon them. They couldn't see. They couldn't breathe. Peg tripped, leaving her and Sil sprawled on the ground. Men, women, and children ran around them. Sil stood up.

"Mommy," she said, tugging on her mother's arm. "Mommy, come on, hurry!"

Sil was terrified now. When the tower collapsed, her mother had given a look that she had never seen before. One she hoped she would never see again.

"Go on, Sil," her mother looked up, coughing and struggling to get up. "Keep running to the park. Don't stop! Go! I will follow." Peg's asthma started to kick in, leaving her struggling for breath. Her face was reddening.

"Mommy…."

"GO!" Peg pushed her daughter towards the park. Sil ran, and turned back, to see if her mom was coming. Peg stood up, coughing and wheezing. She waved her hand, motioning for Silvan to go. Sil turned back towards the trees and ran. She ran all her weak, sick little legs could run. She stumbled into a crevice in the rocks.

Silvan stood back up. The only light in the tunnel was the light from a weak, dimming flashlight that lit up the faces of a group of terrified adults, pale and white like ghosts.

"Mommy?" she wheezed. More phlegm flew from her throat, covered in dust. She heard more coughing, realizing that it wasn't coming from her. Another being pushed up against her, smacking her head against the floor. Her brain blackened out.

**Later**

Warm arms wrapped around her limp body. Her eyes fluttered open. Nothing but darkness. She heard faintly the flap of wings. She was pulled into the deep waters of unconsciousness once more.

**Later**

Silvan awoke once again. But instead of a shadowy tunnel it was a square room lit but extremely white lights. They burned her eyes. Demure voices mumbled somewhere to her left. She opened her eyes once more.

A woman stood over her, pouring a warm liquid into her mouth.

_Am I in heaven? Did I die?_ she thought. Everyone around her was pale, like they, too, had been smothered in the dust of the skyscrapers. She sat up abruptly.

"Oh!"

The woman gently pushed her back down.

"It is alright, little girl. Shh, do not be afraid." She coaxed Sil back down onto the pillows.

"Are you an angel?" Sil asked, her voice quiet.

"You may call me that." The lady smiled. "Who are you?"

"I'm Silvan Lye, angel."

"Thank you, Silvan Lye."

Sil nodded. She took one last look at the lady; the pale skin, the light, silvery-blonde hair, the violet purple eyes.

Purple eyes?

Silvan drifted off, leaving the contemplation for tomorrow.


End file.
